


turn away and kick out the red sand

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lem King picks apart his stale bread roll, alone in a city that he cannot call his home, a place where his only friends have proven themselves unreliable at times. He thinks of Emmanuel, a man whom he has known for no more than a few snatched hours over a course of days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turn away and kick out the red sand

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through the Boat Party season 1 finale. Find me on [tumblr](http://luckydicekirby.tumblr.com/) and cry with me about this podcast!

Vellis is unsettled for a long while after the events of High Sun Day. The people are fearful of many things: the uncanny weather, the decisive actions of the Golden Lance, the uncertainty of what is to happen to the Church of Samothes.

Lem King, the archivist, is unsettled too, though perhaps not for the same reasons. He likes to think himself an adventurer, these days: and why should he not? He has been to the faraway city of Nacre. He has traveled with unconventional people, done unconventional things. An adventurer, he reasons, should be able to weather these things, and take them in stride.

But still, he worries, alone in a corner of The Bottom of the Flounder, nursing his drink, picking away at the remains of his dinner. He thinks of Hadrian's face, bright with righteousness, as he explained what he had done to Jericho. He thinks of how Hella had looked, listening to him, the way she would not meet Lem or Fero's eyes.

He wonders, not for the first time, about the ruin of Nacre that he and his companions left behind them.

Lem King picks apart his stale bread roll, alone in a city that he cannot call his home, a place where his only friends have proven themselves unreliable at times. He thinks of Emmanuel, a man whom he has known for no more than a few snatched hours over a course of days.

Emmanuel, who may, of course, be dead. Lem has no way of knowing. He has thought, more than once, of returning to Nacre, although he is able to see this thought for the foolishness that it is. He can imagine the look on Fero's face, if he were to mention this to him. But Fero and Hella both were content to leave Nacre to the devices of Ordenna. Lem cannot see how this was a wiser course of action.

"'Nother round?" offers Fisher Lacey, leaning her hip against his table. "You seem like you could use it. Well--I'm sure we all could, these days."

"Yes, alright," says Lem, and Fisher Lacey pours him another drink with pleasure: there is little she can do in times like these, but she can always keep the ale flowing, can keep warm meals on the table.

In the hearth, the fire roars.

Lem thinks, a little glum, and not in the adventuring spirit at all, that he does not even know what ale in Nacre might have tasted like. Now he may never know. The loss of that knowledge stings, only adding to the dull ache that has recently put down roots beneath his breastbone.

The Flounder is quiet today. Lem has been seeking out quiet places, both out of preference and necessity. Morbash still lurks behind every corner, or at least it seems this way to Lem.

At first, Lem does not notice as a new patron goes to sit at the bar, and speaks briefly with Fisher. He does not listen to his conversation, or see the coin that changes hands. At Fisher's cheerful direction, the new patron makes his way over to Lem's table, and slides into the booth opposite him.

Lem looks up.

"Hello," a soft-spoken voice says. "The proprietor said it looked like you could use some more bread, so I took the liberty of buying us some." He places the basket on the table. "I've been looking everywhere for you--you certainly don't make yourself easy to find, Lem King." At this, Emmanuel holds up the card that Lem had given him, weeks ago. He smiles, a small and delicate thing.

Lem King, archivist and bard, the orc who, when left alone in a room with a book already filled to the brim with poems, looked at it and carefully added his own, who would rather speak frankly with any foe than cross blades, who for all his life has made his way in the world by his wits and his words--he finds himself, for this moment, with nothing to say.

Across from him, Emmanuel laughs, and he reaches into the basket and breaks bread.


End file.
